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‘We had to show that the immigration system is a mess’: how Mo Amer’s refugee status led to comedy gold

‘Just pretend you and I are in a barbershop”, says the Palestinian American comedian Mo Amer. We’re talking on a video call, amid the sound of intricate scissor work and the occasional buzz of clippers, as he has his hair and beard trimmed in preparation for press interviews for his new film, Black Adam. He’s in the US, while I’m in Amsterdam. “You’re in one of my favourite cities in the world!” he says, before launching into tales of his standup adventures in the city.

This is what it’s like to speak to Amer. He is best known for two Netflix standup specials in which he delivers sharp routines on the intricacies of hummus preparation, the perils of travelling with refugee papers and the intensity of Arabic swear words. In person, there is a charming authenticity to him, a desire to turn every conversational twist into a way to establish a genuine connection. His persona as a performer makes this less than surprising – particularly when you see his new Netflix sitcom Mo. Its approach to honesty and connection doesn’t exactly see Amer maintaining a standoff-ish distance from his audience.

Co-created with Ramy Youssef – with whom he stars as a diner-owning friend in the acclaimed sitcom Ramy – it’s a fictionalised account of the comic’s real life experiences, based around the character Mo Najjar (played by Amer). Like him, his fictional creation left war-torn Kuwait with his Palestinian family and settled in Texas as a child – and has been waiting 20 years for his citizenship to be granted (Amer was granted his in 2009).

Amer’s adopted home of Houston is practically his co-star. In almost every episode, Mo wears a T-shirt with “Houston” emblazoned on the front, and we’re treated to frequent shots of the skyline, cultural landmarks and a score featuring local hip-hop stars Bun B and Paul Wall (both make subtle cameo appearances). “It’s such an exporter of talent” says Amer. He is talking specifically about Alief, the perse, working-class suburb he grew up in, also home to Beyoncé, Lizzo and Megan Thee Stallion “but also jazz pianist Robert Glasper” he says. “It’s criminal that Houston hasn’t had a show like this”.

In the series, Houston is defined by its rich cultural mix. The opening sequence sees Mo arrive at work, a smartphone shop, and seamlessly switch between Spanish, customer-service English, back to Spanish and then into his native Arabic. Amer speaks all three languages in real life. “It’s the most perse city in the US,” he says, with more than “80 languages spoken in Alief.”

Mo’s girlfriend in the show, Maria, played by Narcos: Mexico’s Teresa Ruiz, is Mexican American. His best friend, Nick, played by local rapper Tobe Nwigwe, is of Nigerian origin. The show finds plenty of humour in the tensions that arise from cultural differences – Mo’s relationship with Maria is complicated by his Palestinian mother’s displeasure that she isn’t an “Aisha” or “Khadija”. But the series seems just as interested in the crosscurrents between the different communities. At one point, we find the lead character trying to find things in common with his Palestinian roots and the fiddle-playing white-Americans who employ him to work on their olive farm. Just as in his standup routine, at a time when there is an emphasis on pision, he is quietly carving out a different narrative: “Muhammads in Texas get along with redneck Scots all day.”

Driving this local pride, though, is an ache for belonging. “That’s why the flashbacks are important”, says Amer, referring to the snippets we see of childhood Mo coming to the US. “To highlight how hard it is to assimilate in that culture, the things that you had to go through to feel seen, and to truly feel like you belong.” To suppress the rising anxiety, the character turns to a drug known as “lean” – a dangerous mix of codeine, cough syrup and soda – popular in the local rap scene (something Amer has never done).

Meanwhile, Amer is increasingly in demand. This year, he makes his debut in a Hollywood blockbuster, with his role in DC superhero film movie Black Adam seeing him star alongside Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and Pierce Brosnan. But his journey into the heart of the industry has clearly had no effect on his desire to be down-to-earth. While Mo has largely been promoted as a hustle story with a comedic twist (“selling merch is the only thing I can do without papers” says Mo in the trailer), there’s real heart and richness beneath the grind. In the second half of the series, we see him wrestle with his faith, confront past trauma and navigate the immigration system with his family.

For Amer, it’s a continuation of the tone of his earlier work: “Even my standup”, he says, referring to his two Netflix specials, “both of them, unintentionally, have a really emotional thread to them”. In his first special, Vagabond, Amer gave a humorous account of his family’s tense escape from Kuwait, but choked up as he pointed out his mother in the crowd. In his Netflix series, Mo’s relationship with his mother is a rich source of equally funny and tender moments. When Mo is injured in a bizarre supermarket gun incident, they share a touching conversation about processing grief. But not before his mother gets more het up about the discovery of his shoulder tattoo: “A graze will heal, but a tattoo is a disgrace on your life for ever!”.

We needed to highlight how much of a mess the immigration system really is

The show’s depiction of the US immigration process is hilarious and heart-wrenching. It’s rife with absurd immigration attorneys – one of whom works out of a shop that sells “healing crystals” and can’t seem to locate Mo’s brother’s citizenship application. “It’s OK, we’ll just Xerox yours and change the name”. It also depicts a system riven with minor clerical errors that could set the family back months. “We needed to highlight how much of a mess the immigration system really is,” says Amer, whose real-life immigration attorney consulted on the show. “You would think that in a technologically advanced world that it wouldn’t be.”

Mo’s blurring of artist and art is one of its strengths. It makes for a show that’s full of vulnerable storytelling and emotionally resonant moments, but making it wasn’t always easy for Amer. One episode revolves around the death of Mo’s father (Amer’s father died soon after their arrival in Texas). “After I shot that scene I realised I never actually mourned him,” he says “it was something that I just kind of suppressed in my real life”.

Watching Mo is a journey through shifting styles and tones. It blends and switches the comedic absurdity you might find on Donald Glover’s Atlanta, the cinematic quality of Breaking Bad and the familiar warmth of a fish-out-of-water sitcom such as Kim’s Convenience. The extended montages of Mo’s mother cooking or Mo taking his first bite, make it feel more like a food show (“Even in my first two specials” he laughs “I had stuff about food– it’s a big part of our lives as Arabs”). And the story takes us everywhere from entanglements with local gangsters and strip club owners to run-ins with Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents.

Some of the show’s most compelling moments come from Mo’s relationships with those who are closest to him: his stern but loving mother, his brother Sameer and his girlfriend Maria. We get flashes of their own stories and perspectives, but it feels like there is much more to come. As Amer, tells me: “There’s just so much more story to tell that we haven’t touched yet, so I’m very excited about the opportunity to let those stories breathe”.